


Oblivious to the Rose

by dirtymudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Light Angst, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23807476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood
Summary: Every Friday is theirs and theirs alone. But they’re not dating. Really, they’re not. They’re not. So it shouldn’t matter if he misses a Friday for a date. Right? Right.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 34
Kudos: 927





	Oblivious to the Rose

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was brought to you by the Strictly Dramione facebook group, some alcohol, and ComfortableSilences who britpicks the fuck out of me (thank you, please go read her work)

“The optimist sees the rose and not its thorns; the pessimist stares at the thorns, oblivious to the rose.” –Kahlil Gibran

* * *

It was a set day, really. Almost religious. Like the Sabbath at sunset or Mosque during midday. Friday was  _ theirs  _ and theirs alone. 

She couldn’t count the number of times she bailed on Ginny or Harry or Ron for  _ him.  _ No matter the amount of times  _ he  _ refused plans with Blaise and Theo for her. 

Just last Friday he was invited out to drinks with his boss and coworkers, which is really just grade A Malfoy schmoozing time. She had hurt her foot that morning and was unable to meet them and imagine her surprise when he stepped through the floo at 6 p.m on the dot with “micro-flavable” popcorn and a “moodie.”

Religiously, see?

So why was Theo, Blaise, his boss, and his coworkers not important enough to interrupt their day but  _ she  _ was? Whoever  _ she  _ was. 

When his owl first arrived at her work window Thursday afternoon, she smiled. He would often write her during the week about “what stupid thing your friend Potter did at work today” or “a new joke Weasley told me that I needed to tell you before he does.” 

So when she opened the letter to find, 

_ Hello Granger,  _

_ I’d like to preface this by saying I’ve instructed Otis to fly away immediately after dropping this off to you. He is my best, most loyal owl and I cannot risk you hexing him in place of me.  _

_ With that said, I’m going to have to cancel our standing meeting on Friday. Pansy has a friend coming from France that she thinks I’ll hit it off with, but she leaves Saturday morning which only leaves tomorrow night free.  _

_ I know, I know.  _

_ ‘Draco, I’m going to miss you!’ _

_ ‘How will I ever choose my own wine? I simply don’t have the palate you do.’ _

_ And while all this is true, I assure you that come the following Friday not only will I bring the biggest, most expensive bottle of wine from the Malfoy cellar, I will let you pick whatever ~~stupid~~ romance moodie you’d like.  _

_ Please have some mercy on me though, if I have to hear my mother ask about dates and weddings and grandchildren one more time I’ll off myself, Granger, I really will.  _

_ On another note, Weasley told me this joke-- _

But she stopped reading. By the time her hands had let go of the letter, her nails had torn little crescents into the parchment. 

She wasn’t jealous. She wasn’t. Really. Really she wasn’t. Why would she be? They weren’t dating. No matter how much Ginny teased them or how often Ron called Malfoy her boyfriend, they weren’t. He wasn’t. 

It wasn’t  _ dates,  _ it was  _ religious.  _

It was their ‘weekly meeting’. It started when Hermione was assigned as a consultant from t he  Department for the Regulation and Control of  Magical Creatures to assist the Department of Magical Law Enforcement during a case that centered around a werewolf and a centar. 

At first, meeting at her flat on Fridays was purely out of convenience. They both worked late during the rest of the week and Draco often worked the overnight patrolling shift on Saturdays into Sundays. 

By the time the case was over, Draco had started coming over out of pure habit. The night after it was dismissed, he strolled in from her fireplace with a bottle of wine and blinked at the sight of her in non-matching, graphic print pajamas and fuzzy slippers. 

_ “What are you doing here?” She gasped, trying to quickly tuck her fuzzy feet under her. _

_ He blinked. “It’s Friday.” _

_ She gaffed, “And the case is over!” _

_ He blinked again. The realization was slow. First he looked shocked, then embarrassed, perhaps then a little sad. It would have been comical if Hermione hadn’t been filtering through all of her other more appropriate, didn’t have the Muppets on it, pajamas.  _

_ Draco cleared his throat. “Well, sorry about that,” he turned to walk back through the fireplace. “I’ll see you--” _ _   
_ _ “Wait,” Hermione narrowed her eyes at the bottle in his hand. “Is that Dom Perignon?”  _

_ Draco snorted. “Of course it is.” _

_ “Sit.” _

That was their first non-working Friday together and it had been almost two years since then with not a single one missed. 

Do you know how many Fridays are in two years? 105 thank you very much, because last year was a leap year and she knew that because Draco had joked that it was the Gods giving them one extra day together. 

And now he was ruining it with that  _ she  _ character that  _ Pansy  _ set him up with. And she’s not jealous. Really, she isn’t. She promises she-

“Hermione?”

“I’m not!” She yelled and then cleared her throat, blinking shamefully at the restaurant patrons that had paused with their forks almost to their mouths to stare at her. 

Ginny chuckled and took a sip of her wine, but it wasn’t Dom Perignon and Hermione hated going  _ out  _ for dinner and Ginny didn’t pinch her when she didn’t eat the broccoli on her plate. 

“Mind telling me what that was all about?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking.”

Ginny took another sip of her wine, giving Hermione a knowing look over the glass.

_ But what the hell did she know?  _ Hermione inwardly scoffed. 

When Hermione had requested Ginny’s presence on a  _ Friday,  _ it was as if she was asking her to slaughter her first child. Ginny had pressed a palm against her forehead. Her cheeks. 

_ “She’s not warm.” Ginny’s face turned up in concern.  _

_ “Check her pulse,” Ron requested, bending down close to Hermione’s face. “Hermione, do you know who I am?” _

_ He drew out every word as if she were a child.  _

_ Hermione sneered and used a nail to flick him in the nose and chuckled when he winced and clutched it.  _

_ “But it’s Friday, Hermione,” Harry said gently. “That’s you and Malfoy’s day.” _

_ She huffed and crossed her arms. “We don’t own the day, Harry. If I want to spend time with my best female friend on a weekend, I’m allowed to.” _

_ They all gave her an unconvinced look.  _

_ “Plus… He might be otherwise occupied.” _

_ At that, Ginny and Ron rolled their eyes and laughed. Still, Harry looked unsure.  _

_ “Otherwise occupied… with what?” _

_ Hermione snorted. “More like who. He has a date for this evening.”  _

_ Ginny and Ron didn’t look amused anymore. It was like you spit in their tea and called it sugar. Harry looked sheepishly at her.  _

_ “What?” She snapped at them.  _

_ “It’s just--” Ron began. _

_ “Nothing,” Ginny interrupted. “I’ll go get my purse.” _

But now all she wanted to do was go home and wallow in her not-jealousy. Because she wasn’t jealous, how could you even think that? 

And when she got home that night, she was even  _ more  _ not-jealous. If Draco wanted to go off gallivanting with  _ she  _ then Hermione could find a date for  _ next  _ Friday and  _ Draco  _ could be the one sitting at a bar with Theo and Blaise while they made him drink Firewhiskey that Draco had, in confidence, told Hermione that he didn’t like and would much rather be allowed to order a butterbeer. 

See? She could do it, too. 

Except she had bailed on Marcus one too many times for Draco for him to owl her back. And Anthony had walked in on a serious tickle fight between them and promptly walked out. 

With a frustrated howl, she threw her address book from the table, grasped her hands in her fist and tugged. She wasn’t crying because she was jealous. 

She wasn’t.

She wasn’t. 

* * *

You know how they say, “give it time” or “time heals all wounds” or “you’ll feel better in time?” 

Well, you won’t. 

You won’t feel better on Saturday morning when you wake up from a cheap wine hangover. 

You won’t feel better when on Saturday night you haven’t heard from  _ him  _ about  _ she  _ and your mind decides to convince you she stayed the night.

You won’t feel better Sunday morning when you wake up with a second cheap wine hangover because it’s all you can afford on a ministry budget. 

You won’t feel better Monday when his owl arrives at your desk with a note about how he can’t wait to tell you about his date this coming Friday.

You especially won’t feel better on Tuesday when you spot him at lunch in Diagon Alley with a fancy blonde and for a second your heart is in the back of your throat because, what if it’s her?

You won’t feel better that night when you remember you recognize the blonde and it’s Astoria Greengrass and she’s as gay as the day is long. 

You won’t feel better on Wednesday because Draco’s owl mentions that he has a surprise for her and the words “dates”, “wedding”, and “grandchildren” run through her mind. 

Thursday is worse. It’s worse because now it’s too close to Friday to find an excuse to  _ not  _ see him and you think of making up something but he knows you better than you know you and he said your eye twitches when you lie.

So, yes, time does nothing. 

Now it’s Friday and she can’t decide what to wear to hear that the man she’s just recently found out her not-jealousy is centered around found the missing piece to “dates”, “weddings”, and “grandchildren.”

For a moment she wonders what it would be like for those words to mean her and she wonders if she could convince him to have a beach wedding.

She knows the man Draco is, that as much as he slags off her romance movies, she’s seen him swallow a little too hard at the same parts she had tears falling into her lap. She knows that, if the person he loved wanted it, he would burn his pale arse to a crisp in the sun to make them happy. 

She sighs, deciding on just a pair of elastic leggings and an oversized t-shirt. It doesn’t matter much what you get not-broken up with. At least after he left, she could throw herself into bed immediately and cry in something comfortable. 

The sound of the floo comes from the living room and when she hears the soft, “Hermione?” muffled through the wall, she’s all at once relieved he’s here and worried that it might be the last time. “I brought your favorite!”

Would  _ she  _ let  _ him  _ go to a woman’s home every Friday night for another two years?   
He would definitely miss a Friday for his honeymoon. 

What about when  _ they  _ had children? Would he come over after he’s tucked them into bed? Probably not. 

She bites her lip to stifle a small sob. Would he move to France? Would he open his floo connection to her? 

So if this is their last Friday, she won’t ruin it. She won’t cry when he tells her about “dates”, “weddings”, “grandchildren.”

Because he wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t. And at one point, that had been such an outlandish thought. 

But now, it hurt. 

* * *

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” Draco said, twisting his chopsticks in a way that wasn’t  _ really  _ using them but still got the noodles into his mouth. 

“Have I?” She asks through a bite of sweet and sour chicken. 

“Normally it’s impossible to get you to shut up,” he laughs and then frowns, biting his lip. “Are you… You’re not mad about last Friday, are you?”

She scoffs, but she knows it sounds forced. “What? No!”

_ How was the date? How was the date? How was the date? How was the date? _

It’s like her mind wants her to ask it. It needs the closure. Rip the bandaid off, as they say. But they also say the things about time. 

“Okay, just making--”

“How was the date?” It’s like word vomit, her mouth trying to catch up with her brain. 

He blinks. “Oh, it was alright actually. Her name was  Marguerite .”

Her heart beats a little faster. What does she do now that  _ she  _ has a name? 

And plus, what the fuck is with the French and flower names? 

“Oh,” She says, stabbing at a piece of chicken. 

“Yeah, we talked about you actually.”

“Oh?” 

“Yes, she’s a huge fan of your work with dragons. Actually, she--”   
“Are you going to see her again?”

He gave her a strange look, setting down his chopsticks and folding his arms in front of him. “I’m not sure, why?”

She smiled, but it was thin and tight and hurt her cheeks. She bit the inside of her mouth and rubbed the skin between her teeth. She wouldn’t cry because she promised herself. She promised she wouldn’t ruin their last Friday. 

“No reason.”

“Granger, I really--”

“I said  _ no reason.”  _ She snapped, grabbing her plate and his even though they were filled with food and dumped them into the trash can. “I think you should leave.”

She couldn’t see him, but his voice was dumbfounded. “What?”

“Well that’s why you’re here anyway right? To tell me there won’t be anymore Fridays?”

Her shoulder shook a little and he thought maybe he was angry, because he couldn’t see the tears streaming down her face as she scraped their plates. 

“What are you talking about?”

“ _ Her!  _ I’m talking about  _ her!  _ Dates and weddings and grandchildren, fucking  _ Marguerite _ _.”  _

When she turned and he could see her red face and her wet cheeks and her shaking lip, he stood to pull her into his arms, but she pushed against his chest. 

His eyes narrowed. “What is your problem? I miss  _ one  _ Friday for  _ one  _ date and now we’re no longer friends?” 

She threw her hands up, “But that’s just  _ it,  _ Draco, because I don’t want to be  _ friends.” _

Her hand flew to cover her mouth and her eyes darted down to the floor because if she saw his face and he rejected her… this wouldn’t be a not-breakup anymore. This would be a real one. 

“Hermione--” He whispered, reaching for the hand covering her mouth. 

She jerked away and sobbed, “Just  _ leave. Please.”  _

He paused for a moment. “Hermione, I went on a date and talked about  _ you. I’m  _ the one who brought you up in the first place,” he gestured to the table. “I eat noodles with sticks because you won’t give me a bloody fork. I spend too much money on wine because I know you love it. I go into muggle stores to buy micro-flavable--”

“Microwavable.” She corrected in a whisper and he glared at her. 

“ _ Microwaveable  _ popcorn. I  _ hate  _ popcorn, do you understand? I  _ hate  _ it. It gets in between your teeth and the salt makes my tongue dry. And I did it--  _ I do it--  _ because I  _ love _ \--”

There might have been more. He was Draco Malfoy, he could probably rant on and on for ages about all the muggle things she subjects him to that he hates. 

But she was already on him, attacking his lips with hers. The table that was once filled with their food was now pressed against the small of his back and he hissed as the wood pushed into the soft flesh of his back. 

Hermione took the opening to swipe her tongue against his teeth, begging him to let her in. And he did. With one hand in her hand and the other on her hip he pulled her closer to him and let her take what she needed from him. 

_ “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t let this be our last Friday,”  _ her kiss said. 

_ “I won’t. It won’t,”  _ his responded. 

Quickly he flipped her so that she was now standing at the table and with a grunt, he lifted her to perch on the edge. 

“I’ve waited…  _ years,  _ Granger… Since the first Friday.” He panted between kisses, moving his lips down her neck and she yelped when he bit the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. “Every time you got a boyfriend… every date…” 

His hands played with the hem of her shirt. When he looked up at her, his eyes were glassy and begging. “I’ve waited so long, Granger. I’ve been so patient.”

She moved his hand and after a brief flash of disappointment on his face, it was replaced by awe as she lifted the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. 

“Please,” she whispered. “No more waiting.”

He faulted for only a second, too mesmerized by the almost sheer cotton of her sports bra. But when she moved to take that off as well, he grabbed her wrists. 

“No, let me. Please.”

She thought perhaps he would rip it off, but he trailed gentle fingers around the tops of breasts and under the straps, slowly sliding them down her shoulders. The light touches caused her nipples to tighten and a shiver followed the rise of goosebumps over her body. 

When he bent to take a still cotton-clad nipple in his mouth, she threw her head back and whined, grasping for his head. Impatiently he tugged the material down, biting softly against the peak.

He felt two small hands gather the material of the shirt tucked into his pants and didn’t stop his assault of her breasts while her hands shook to unbutton his shirt. 

He chuckled at the huff of her annoyance, pushing her hands out of the way to finish it himself. 

When his chest was finally bared to her, she mewled softly and scratched her hands down his torso, feeling his abdomen flex under her fingers.

He shrugged the shirt from his shoulders and immediately attached his hands to the waistband of her leggings, running her hands over the front. 

He pulled back slightly, his hand prodding against her mound. 

“Hermione,” he said hesitantly, “are you not wearing underwear?”

She blushed, opened her mouth to answer, but he surged forward. “You fucking  _ witch,”  _ he whispered and she moaned as he tugged against the elastic to fall to the floor. The cool air was almost shocking against her wet cunt, but it was a short lived sensation as it was immediately replaced by his hands.

“Fuck, you’re wet. Fuck.”

He trailed kisses down her chest, through the valley of her breasts. Down her torso and when he reached her mound, she jerked her hands against his shoulders to pull him up. 

He gave her an inquisitive look. 

“Not this time,” she urged him. “Please… please, I just need you. Now.”

He nodded and moved his back back up her body, giving her time to appreciate the slight flush to his face and the thin layer of sweat that caused his hair to cling to his forehead.

She was on her back on the table. Her hair was probably in fried rice. She would probably smell like soy sauce for days, but none of that mattered when his hands fumbled his trouser button open and he pulled his thick cock from the opening. 

She was aching already, watching him slowly palm himself from base to tip. She hadn’t had sex since Marcus and he was nowhere as long or thick as what was in front of her. 

Hermione closed her eyes and braced herself, until she felt a soft palm against her cheek. 

“Look at me,” he whispered, his thumb tracing against her cheek. “I want you here with me.” 

Her eyes fluttered open and then immediately rolled back in her head when he thrust forward to bury himself in her. 

He cursed softly under his breath, her inner muscles clenching around him.

His pace was slow, but rough. He would pull out slowly, making sure to drag the entire length of himself against her front walls before thrusting roughly back into her. The table under them shook and screeched as it moved against the linoleum floors. 

Her head was thrashing back and forth, babbling words falling from her mouth.

His pace was stuttering, a bead of sweat fell from his temple to trail down her chest and he bent forward to lick it from her skin. 

“I’m close, Granger,” He panted against her ear. “I want you to come with me.”

He licked his thumb and moved it between them to rub firmly against her clit. Hermione screamed and watched as he pulled back slightly, his thrusts slowing as he watched himself disappear inside of her. 

He shivered violently and braced himself on his free hand next to her head. She was so close, she could feel it bubbling in her throat and tingling her spine. His thumb was moving faster, small whimpers falling from his mouth and she tried to hold himself back for her. 

When her back arched and she screamed his name in her release, she felt more than saw Draco twitch and spill inside of her. Her name and several strings of curses falling from his mouth. 

His body was trembling as he pulled his hand from her clit and tucked it under her head, cradling her head to his. Peppering small kisses against her fluttering eyelids and down her cheeks, only to sweep against her lips lightly. 

“You were jealous.” He whispered against her nose. 

“I wasn’t.” 

But she was laughing. 

Because she knew she had been. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: dirty-mudblood.tumblr.com  
> I love hearing from you guys (almost as much as I love tropes)
> 
> If you liked this, please go check out my other works!


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